


Returned Goods

by speedgriffon



Series: I Shall Taunt You a Second Time | Dragonborn Fiona Fics [6]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Fate, Flirting, Implied Relationships, Mild Sexual Content, Oh look there's only one bed, Slow Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-07-18 12:19:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16118318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speedgriffon/pseuds/speedgriffon
Summary: "Do you know how rare it is for a thief to return stolen goods?"A game, a secret, and the return: a story of fate told in three parts.





	1. The Game

The Braidwood Inn of Kynesgrove was well enough, if you could look past the dragon burial mound and the seemingly endless amount of snow that fell from the sky. The persistent rainstorm that evening didn’t make the already bleak town any more appealing to Fiona. The job in Windhelm had gone on longer than expected, and with the winter months fast approaching, the already snow plagued hold was increasingly difficult to traverse.

While she typically journeyed by herself, on this trip she had company. If she had been alone, she would have trekked through the night back to Riften. Fiona was used to long days and nights on the road as the Dragonborn. Those lonely nights seemed to be a thing of the past, however. Ever since she found herself involved with the Thieves Guild, she hardly traveled without a certain red-headed scoundrel. It seemed with every job, Brynjolf was eager to join. Even after she took up the mantle of Guildmaster, he was reluctant to miss out on accompanying her, even if it meant leaving Delvin and Vex in charge. Fiona didn’t mind his company—she enjoyed his friendship. Brynjolf was special to her, and she was happier when he traveled with her.

She finished securing the horses outside Braidwood before heading inside. The warmth of the fire hit her face and she was immediately thankful that Brynjolf had suggested staying in the small town for the night. It was always when she was in a safe environment that she realized just how tired her body and mind were. Fiona noticed Brynjolf standing at the bar, talking with the innkeeper Iddra. The tavern was busy with hungry and sleepy travelers looking for a place to sleep. She only hoped they had room for two more. She busied herself while waiting, pulling off her water-soaked gloves and squeezing the rain from her hair.

It wasn’t long until Brynjolf turned around, his eyes finding her quickly in the crowded hall.

“Did you get us rooms?” Fiona asked as he approached. His sly grin made her hesitate. “ _Bryn_ …”

“ _A_ room,” he clarified. “Inn’s all booked, it seems.”

Fiona stared at him with a flat expression. Bryn’s amusement of the situation only increased. She sighed at him and snatched the key from his hand. She’d have to ask Iddra later how much gold he had offered to ensure they would have to share a room. As annoyed as she seemed, Fiona was only pretending. This wasn’t the first time Brynjolf had engineered a way for them to be alone, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. His actions never ceased to keep her entertained, and perhaps that’s why she kept him around.

This was their game, and the more time they spent together playing it, the more flirtatious and exciting it became. It was like a never-ending dual between two experts. He was a burn so slow it made her soul ache. It seemed they both thrived off the thrill of the chase. Fiona couldn’t deny that there was a mutual attraction between them—there had been one since their first meeting in Riften all those months ago. But even with their flirtations and teasing, neither seemed willing to make the move that would push the already blurred line of friendship into something more.

And so, just a _game_ it would stay.

Fiona unlocked the door and entered first, noting the small size. It was dark, save for a single lantern that encased the room in a soft glow. She had seen better quarters, but it would do for the night.   

“Well would you look at that,” Bryn chuckled from behind her as he closed and locked the door. “One bed.”

“And a chair,” Fiona commented, gesturing to the table set against the other wall. “Well enough for you to sleep in.”

Brynjolf’s grin didn’t falter. He inched closer to her, his hands hovering over her arms.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to keep your bed warm tonight?” It was a question Fiona was used to.

She smiled, but stepped away from him. “Ask me again another night.”

“You always say that, lass.” He turned around when she gestured for him to do so. She was thankful that despite his amorous ways, he still respected her privacy. “One of these days you’ll say yes.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Fiona answered.

She double-checked to see he wasn’t looking before peeling away the layers of her Nightingale armor. They were practically drenched, but she was thankful that the contents of her pack had managed to stay dry beneath her cape. She changed into a cotton nightshirt and rested her armor across the bed’s footboard. The chill in the room had her rushing to get under the covers and for a moment she regretted rejecting Brynjolf. He turned just as she settled against the pillows.

“Comfortable?” he asked. Fiona nodded and watched as he rummaged through his own pack. He moved to undo the buckles of his armor and shot her a playful glare. “Lecher!”

Fiona rolled her eyes and pulled the duvet over her head. She waited until the rustle of fabric quieted and the chair she had banished him to squeak. She pulled the covers away from her face and studied Brynjolf as he adjusted his weight in an attempt to get comfortable. He had discarded his leathers, swapping them for a loose linen tunic and cotton trousers. It was rare to see him out of his usual Guild armor. Fiona tried to recall a time she had ever seen him in something so _casual_.

The legs of the chair produced an awful high-pitched sound and Brynjolf laughed at her pained expression. Whatever thoughts she was having about how handsome he looked dashed away. Fiona attempted to quiet her mind and close her eyes, but every glance towards him she discovered he was looking right back at her with a small, content smile. Suddenly he spoke.  

“If I tell you a secret, will you share one with me?”

Fiona raised an eyebrow. “Is this another tactic to get me to share something about my past?”

“Or present,” he shrugged, leaning back in the chair with his arms crossed. “Do you promise?”

She tried to ignore the way the chair creaked again and adjusted herself so she was leaning against the headboard. She wondered what more Brynjolf wanted to learn from her. She had thought telling him she was Dragonborn would be enough, but he was always asking for more information. It was all part of the game.  

“Fine.” she answered. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Brynjolf studied her for a moment, as if he was trying to determine what kind of secret to trade to get what he wanted.

“You’ve yet to tell me about your parents…where in Skyrim you were raised?” he rested a hand against his chin in thought.

Fiona found humor in the fact he still believed that just because she was a Nord, she was from Skyrim. There really was so much he didn’t know. She tilted her head. “No. _You_ first.”

He nodded, and for a moment the mirth in his expression faltered.

“I was too young to remember when or how my mother died,” he started and if it wasn’t for his solemn tone and frown, Fiona would’ve assumed he was lying. Brynjolf was just as secretive as she was, but every once in a while he would divulge the truth. “My father died during the Markarth Incident—one of the first soldiers to lay down their life for Ulfric.”

“He was a Stormcloak?” Fiona asked.

Brynjolf shook his head. “They weren’t called that yet.”

As silence fell between them, she figured that was all he was willing to share for the time being. He looked at her expectantly as the somber atmosphere faded. Fiona was about to respond when—she widened her eyes at the chair as it whined under the weight of Brynjolf’s body yet again. For all her experience in life, it had to have been the most annoying noise she had ever heard, at least in the moment. With a sigh, she shifted her body along the mattress and laid back down.

Brynjolf looked far more offended than usual. “Come now lass, you’re not one to break a promise.”

“I’m not,” she argued. “But if I have to listen to that damned chair all night, I’ll throw it into the fire!”

She shifted and silently gestured to the void she had created. Brynjolf leaned forward, seemingly startled by the invitation. Fiona watched him as he approached carefully, taking note of his movements. He was slow, his lips twitching up as he tried to mask his delight. Finally he laid down beside her, adjusting the blankets around them both.

Fiona ignored the warmth that came over her with his body so close. If she had known, she would’ve invited him to her bed months ago. It wasn’t long before his arms snaked around her waist. Brynjolf smiled when she didn’t resist.

“I couldn’t tell you how long it’s been since a woman shared her bed with me.”  

“I find that hard to believe,” she responded softly. Fiona had learned of his life full of conquests long ago—not that it ever bothered her. She wasn’t one to judge when she was just as familiar with casual relations. “Wasn’t it just a few nights ago that you were flirting with that Windhelm barmaid?”

“Are you jealous, lass?” Brynjolf teased, pulling her body even closer to his. One of his hands slowly trailed up and down her spine before resting on her hip. “I’m not afraid to admit that honeyed words don’t always work.”

“Clearly,” Fiona tossed back. It seemed Brynjolf chose to ignore her comment.  

“Trysts don’t typically end with spending the night,” he explained.

“Sounds like you aren’t bedding the right type of woman,” she idly slid one of her legs between his, her foot brushing against his ankle.

“And yet…” Brynjolf’s emerald gaze was as focused as ever. “Here you are.”

Fiona smirked. It always ended like this. “Not a chance.”

She thought that would be the conclusion to another one of their games, but her satisfied grin faltered when Brynjolf leaned his head towards hers. She resisted the impulse to move away; not that she wanted to. She didn’t need to convince herself that this is what she had wanted all along, for him to make the first _real_ move. She closed her eyes and tried to not make it obvious she was holding her breath.

“Fiona,” his breath circled around her ear. “You _wound_ me.”

She glanced at him through her lashes and cursed herself for almost caving in. He wasn’t allowed to win so easily. She lifted her leg up, deliberately brushing her thigh against his groin. Fiona grinned at the hardness she felt, to know her actions were having an effect on him. Brynjolf’s expression did nothing to hide his arousal. She felt spurred on by the strained groan that escaped him and she pressed her body flush against his. The tension had never been built so high—they had never been this close to the edge.  

“I can do a lot more than that.”

Before she could say another word he moved, swiftly turning her in his arms so she was pinned between his body and the bedding. The gleam in his eyes made his intentions perfectly clear. Fiona let go a sharp gasp before his lips were on hers. It was searing, and Fiona felt as though the intensity would push them both through the bed to the floor. It suddenly didn’t matter that they had kissed before. The passion she felt made it feel like the first time, almost as if she had never been properly kissed in her life until then.

His hands roamed her body franticly, never staying in one place for too long. She kept her grip on him tight, fingers threading through his hair as she returned his kisses eagerly. She didn’t remember separating for one moment, not even to breathe. It was if they were desperate to make up for all the lost time they had wasted dancing around each other, playing their stupid game. The seal had been broken, and Fiona couldn’t be gladder for it.

Brynjolf let out a breathless chuckle as she broke away to let out an audible moan. She whimpered again as he rolled his hips against hers, applying more pressure with every movement. It drove her mad. He repeated the action and continued his assault of kisses across her face and down her neck. Fiona arched her back from the mattress and found the moment to roll them over so she could straddle his lap. It was her turn to lead, or so she attempted. He quickly leaned forward to close the gap between them, enveloping her in his arms.

They slowed, if only to finally catch their breath. Fiona found herself caught off guard by the intensity of his stare. She had never seen such a hunger in his eyes—this was not a man out for another notch in his belt. She closed her eyes as he rested his head against hers.

“I think you owe me a secret,” he trailed his nose across her temple, lips pressing against her ear. “ _Fiona_.”

_By the Nine_ , the way he said her name was enough to push her to the edge. She struggled to find a clever response, or anything coherent to say. He didn’t seem too concerned by her being speechless.

Brynjolf leaned back, creating enough space to discard his shirt. He was quick to pull her back to his chest, but Fiona couldn’t help but notice the worn silver chain that hung around his neck. The light caught the pendant that rested against his flesh and she froze. It wasn’t a pendant, but a ring. A ring she recognized.

He didn’t seem to notice her startled reaction at first, his lips still busy with leaving a trail of kisses down the nape of her neck as his hands slid her nightshirt up her thighs. Fiona’s grip on his shoulders tightened and it took all of her willpower to pull away. It wasn’t until he noted her staring at the necklace with wide eyes that he paused.

“What’s wrong?” He breathed in deeply and Fiona could tell he was struggling to steady himself. He clearly wasn’t expecting her to stop.

“Where did you…” she hesitantly curled her fingers around the ring, lifting it slightly in an effort to confirm her suspicions. Her voice was so soft, so uncharacteristically shaky.  “Brynjolf, where did you get this?”

“Where any good thief gets his belongings,” he explained. “I stole it.”

It was all Fiona had to hear as the memories came flooding back. A wave of emotions hit Fiona in full force and she dropped the ring from her fingers as if it burned her skin. She could feel the tears stinging the corners of her eyes and smacked a hand to her mouth to muffle the sound of her oncoming grief. She couldn’t understand why she was reacting in such a way, but her mind and judgement was suddenly too cloudy. The confusion and worry on Brynjolf’s face only made her feel worse. _Guilty_.

Fiona scrambled off of his lap and nearly tripped over herself as she moved away from the bed. She needed to distance herself from this before she said, or did, something foolish. She needed to be alone. In a blur she gathered her belongings, not caring if she was forgetting something. She draped her cloak around her shoulders before moving towards the door. Brynjolf could only watch with a dazed, dumbfounded expression.

Without another word or glance back at him, she was gone.

  



	2. The Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than I wanted, mostly due to the horrible ear infection I've been battling. I was going to add more to this, but decided the flashback should stand alone, even if it's shorter than a normal chapter. Enjoy :)

_Cyrodiil, 4E 198_  


He was down to his last lockpick.

Brynjolf cursed under his breath and paused in what had to be his eighth attempt to unlock the door. Even if he did manage to break the lock and secure a few valuable items, he swore he would never set foot in the damned city again. He had been there for too long, and out of the twelve jobs he had managed to find, only two were successful.

_If you can count a handful of septims and worthless junk successful_ , he thought.

He came too close to being caught on the last attempted burglary, and was stopped by more than a few guards for looking suspicious. Brynjolf wondered how the Cyrodiil thieves and their Gray Fox accomplished anything under such scrutiny. With the bad luck he was having, maybe there was something to Delvin’s theory about a curse plaguing the Riften Guild.

Brynjolf should’ve left when he had the chance, but he was stubborn. He couldn’t admit defeat and found himself trying to turn his luck around. He found the castle by happenstance, the large building hard to miss on his way to the Skyrim border. It wasn’t until he slipped onto the grounds that he learned it was filled with rich nobles attending a wedding, their gold and valuables ripe for the taking.

His lockpick nearly snapped as he tested the lock once more. He was damn close to smashing it open with his dagger in frustration, but gave that a second thought when he heard a patrol of guards heading his way. He quickly slipped into a dark corner of the hall, hiding his body behind a few barrels and spider webs.

“Groom’s chambers,” one of the guards stated, and motioned for the other to stand against the wall next to the locked door. “Do not leave this post until dawn.”

“Aye,” the grunt replied.

Even though it was only one guard, Brynjolf knew it was unwise to try and subdue him. The thought of being arrested and spending even one night in a tiny prison cell was… less than appealing. Whatever was behind that door wasn’t worth it.

_Well, shit_ —his mind raced with a thousand more curses as he switched his focus to getting out of the castle unnoticed. He’d deal with the embarrassment of returning to the Cistern with no spoils. He was used to Delivn’s teasing and Mercer’s ire. It wouldn’t take him long to make up the cost of this trip.

Brynjolf carefully made his way down the hall in the opposite direction of the guard, keeping low to the ground and in the shadows. At the end of the hall there was a solitary locked door. With nowhere else to go, he crouched down and rolled his last lockpick between his fingers, as if offering a small prayer to whichever God would listen. It only took a few seconds for the lock to click open, and Brynjolf felt a wave of relief hit him. He slipped through the doorway with a grin, locking it behind him for good measure.

The room he found himself in was large; fitting for a castle and a fancy noble wedding. He scanned for another exit but only found a balcony, the large window-doors propped open to a view of the Imperial City in the distance. A summer breeze floated in, the fine linen curtains hypnotizing as he continued surveying the room for valuables. Brynjolf wasn’t leaving this place empty handed. He froze when his eyes landed on a figure laying in the large canopy bed—a woman. _The bride?_

He found himself momentarily distracted as he tried to see her face through the drapery and darkness. For a brief moment he contemplated taking her for ransom. A noble bride abducted on the eve of her wedding day could fetch him a considerable amount of gold—if he wasn’t caught. If his already questionable morals were any worse, he would’ve already thrown her over his shoulder. Brynjolf was a thief through and through, but he was no bandit.

Something glimmered out of the corner of his eye and he turned away from the bed and woman.

_Jackpot._

Brynjolf nearly laughed aloud as he saw the pile of gems and gold filling the nearby strongbox. Who would leave this in plain view? He had to hesitate, wondering if it was all a trick. But there were no traps, only treasure. There were other valuables strewn about the table with a pile of opened letters in the center. His smile grew larger as he realized he would be stealing from the wedding gifts. These people seemed rich enough—they surely wouldn’t miss a few material possessions.

He fit as much as he could into a sack, ensuring it wasn’t too heavy or suspicious looking for him to transport on the long journey home. He entertained himself again with the thought of the woman sleeping only a few steps away. Nothing _too_ impure, but he would be remised if he didn’t attempt to see her for himself. Brynjolf placed his pack of stolen goods on the table before quietly sneaking towards the bed. Behind the lace drapes he found a young lass, no older than twenty years. One arm outstretched across the empty side of the bed, the other cresting across her chest.

She was pretty, as far as Brynjolf could tell. With light hair and fair skin, he had to wonder if she was even an Imperial. Everybody else in the castle was. This woman certainly seemed out-of-place amongst the other inhabitants of the castle he had come across. The idea of taking her with him back to Skyrim floated through his mind again and he smirked. _Rescuing_ a fellow Nord from an arranged marriage and a life of boredom in Cyrodiil. She would have much more fun with the Guild—with _him_.

Brynjolf couldn’t hold back a small chuckle. He should’ve never read that sappy romance novel Vex had left in the Flaggon. He was no storybook hero—he was one of Skyrim’s best thieves and he had a job to finish. Just as he was about to leave her he noticed the shimmer of blue on her outstretched hand. Sapphires set on a silver band— _a wedding ring_. Brynjolf instinctively reached for it but hesitated, and didn’t know why.

He looked at her face again, blonde hair obscuring most of her features as she slept. The bustle of footsteps in the hall snapped Brynjolf out of his daze. There was a guard at the door he had broken through, loudly commanding for a key so they could enter. The bride began to stir, and Brynjolf grabbed her hand. He slipped the ring off as she pulled away from him, her eyes fluttering open at the noise of the guards. He secured the ring in his chest pocket before rushing back to the table, throwing the sack of loot over his shoulder. The threat of imminent danger made his adrenaline run—he loved the thrill.

He dashed to the balcony, taking one moment to calculate his escape. It wasn’t too far of a jump to the ground, and the nearby lake would be a perfect place to hide and slow down any pursuers. The door finally burst open and guards began to fill the room, startling the woman from her bed. Brynjolf gripped the curtain tight in his hand as he jumped onto the railing, turning back to laugh at the guards as they rushed after him, the startled bride in tow. He winked at her, not caring if she didn’t even see his face, and jumped.

The curtain slowed his decent enough that when he landed on the ground, he wouldn’t lose his footing. He zig-zagged towards the water, blessing the Divines as he found an unoccupied rowboat. Brynjolf didn’t waste any time pushing it into the water. The current was strong, and he nearly missed as he threw the pack and himself into the boat. He could hear the sound of guards scrambling, but as he glanced back, they were running in the opposite direction. He was safe.

Brynjolf abandoned the boat further downstream, pleased he had been carried closer to the border than he could’ve asked for. There was a spring in his step as he headed towards the snowy mountains, and he reached for the ring in his pocket. The sapphire stones gleamed in the moonlight, and he smiled contently to himself.

His luck had been restored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I write a longer story for these two?


	3. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This clocked in at almost 4k words and has SO MUCH. Thank you for your patience as I worked on getting this to you! Anyways, enjoy! Hurray for bookends!

_ Skyrim, 4E Present Day _

Fiona was in Riften by the next day. She had traveled all night through the rain and snow, nearly collapsing as she finally made it to the city gates. She handed off her horse to Shadr and took a quick glance at the night sky. Instead of storm clouds, there were clear skies, marked by the striking orange hue of the sunset. It brought Fiona a moment of peace from her otherwise frantic thoughts that had been plaguing her for hours. She had been in a daze since she left Kynesgrove, struggling to recall memories from a former life that she was sure she had long forgotten.

An entire lifetime of events had happened to her since she left Cyrodiil. Helgen, the Civil War, Alduin…Fiona wouldn’t be able to recognize her younger self after all she had been through. There was a reason she had left, and there was a reason why she had chosen not to tell anyone the truth. She just didn’t know it would come back to haunt her in such a way.  

She was also struggling to come to terms with what Brynjolf’s role in it all meant. He had always been secretive about his past, but was never shy about his life of crime. He was a thief—always had been, and always would be. Fiona just couldn’t believe that before she came to Riften, before they met at the Bee and Barb, their worlds had collided. And when faced with her— _ their _ —past, and what it possibly meant, what had she done?

She ran.  

“ _ Coward _ .” She mumbled to herself out loud as she approached the graveyard entrance to the Cistern.

It would’ve been smarter to just head straight for Honeyside, but she needed to drop her stolen valuables from Windhelm with Delvin before the next day, and before Brynjolf decided to catch up to her.  _ If  _ Brynjolf decided to catch up to her. The Cistern was surprisingly quiet for it being nighttime, with most of the Guild members out on their night jobs within the hold. She silently greeted those who remained as she made her way to the Ragged Flaggon, hesitating slightly as she went through the fake cabinet door.

What if Brynjolf had chased after her and arrived in Riften ahead of her? What if he was waiting for her at the Flaggon bar? She took a step backward, wondering if she really ought to just head for her estate. But what if he was there instead? It wouldn’t be the first time he broke into Honeyside. It wouldn’t be the first time he broke into _ any _ of her chambers. Fiona closed her eyes and groaned in despair. This was the turmoil she had been battling with since she had left him the previous night. Brynjolf didn’t deserve to be ran out on,  _ half naked _ in a Braidwood Inn bed. Surely, he had questions about her reaction and she wasn’t even sure she knew how to answer them. Not yet.

Fiona found Delvin at his usual table near the bar and sat down across from him, quickly scanning the darkened ratway for any sign of the red-headed thief in question. Even though she didn’t spot him, it didn’t give her much relief. She silently thanked Vekel as he brought her a tankard of dark ale and wondered if it was smart to be drinking when she was so exhausted, but took a swig anyways.

“Ah, our Guildmaster returns,” Delvin greeted her. His tone shifted as he noticed something was wrong the minute he got a look at Fiona’s face. He glanced over his shoulder towards the Cistern. “Where’s Bryn?”

Fiona’s tired brain couldn’t come up with a lie fast enough and just sighed. The truth would have to do this time. “He’s still in Kynesgrove.”

“Trouble in paradise?” He raised his voice and flicked his gaze over Fiona’s head. She could only assume he was signaling to Vex. “The two of ya’ have been fawning over each other lately. So what’s soured the pot?”

“We have…not,” Fiona didn’t mean to sound so doubtful, but even she couldn’t deny the way her and Brynjolf acted, considering what had transpired in Kynesgrove. Apparently they weren’t too great at hiding it from others. Maybe it was time to just admit that she had deeper feelings for the man than she initially realized.

“Seriously. Two of you haven’t had an argument since before Snowveil Sanctum,” he paused when Fiona frowned. She didn’t like to remind herself there was a time where Brynjolf thought she was  _ dead _ , let alone under a myriad of other Mercer’s manipulations.

Delvin opted to stare at her with an amused expression. “So, what happened?”

“Remember when I asked you about my mother’s stolen ring?” she hesitated. She was already starting to piece it together in her head. Perhaps she already knew the answer and just needed to hear it from somebody else to confirm. “Has Brynjolf ever been to Cyrodiil?”

Delvin’s eyes lit up as if she had handed him all the gold in Solitude’s vault.

“Divines  _ Damnit _ !” Vex shouted from the bar. Fiona flinched and turned, watching as the icy blonde rushed over and slammed a handful of gold on the table in front of Delvin before stomping away towards the Cistern entrance. Fiona looked at Delvin in annoyance.  

“A man’s got to keep himself entertained,” he explained smugly. “And you and Brynjolf are proving to be quite entertaining.”

Fiona didn’t respond—mostly out of frustration, but also to give Delvin the chance to explain himself.

“Brynjolf traveled to Cyrodiil a few years back now,” he started. “Jobs dried up in the Rift and we had no name anywhere else in Skyrim.”

“We don’t always like to meddle with the Gray Fox’s affairs…” Delvin trailed off for a moment to nurse his own cup of ale. Fiona copied him. “Bryn was gone for a long time without any correspondence. Mercer was about to cut him as a loss.”

“On with it, Delvin,” Fiona didn’t mean to be rude, but she was fighting anxiety and sleep.

“When he returned, he was in high spirits,” he grinned. “Showed off and shared his bounty of stolen goods from some noble wedding he had crashed.”

“Or at least, that’s the way he explained it,” Delvin shrugged a little but continued when Fiona didn’t correct him. She didn’t feel like giving Delvin any details. Not before she could speak to Brynjolf. “When everybody walked away, he showed off this sparkling silver ring with sapphires. His share of the cut, and rightfully so.”

Fiona swallowed the heavy feeling in her heart. Delvin already knew the true origin of the ring and how important it was to her. He frowned, knowing his choice of words were not the wisest. “Did you try to fence it for him?” she questioned.

Delvin nodded. “He said after all the trouble he went through to get it, he wanted to keep it as a good luck charm.”

“What he  _ didn’t _ tell me was that he stole it off of a sleeping bride-to-be.”

“Yes,” Fiona confirmed. “I’m sure he had his reasons,” she continued flatly.

“So, when I told you about…” she tried to read his expression. She was still hesitant to give too much away. It was clear that while Delvin was good at keeping secrets, he was also good at hiding important information as well, especially if it benefited him for his amusement. “You didn’t think it was important to tell me that Brynjolf had  _ my  _ ring?”

“You were a footpad,” he explained. “Needed to earn your trust. Then you and Bryn started dancin’ around with each other like love-struck fools, and me and Vex thought… well, we could have some fun with this.”

“All of this could have been prevented, you know,” Fiona pressed a hand to the bridge of her nose. “There really is no honor among thieves.”

Delvin chuckled at that and Fiona sighed. She really couldn’t blame Delvin. He was right—her and Brynjolf had acted like fools.

“There’s something you’re not telling me, Fiona,” Delvin tilted his head to the side. “As long as I’ve known Brynjolf to carry that ring, he’s kept it around his neck, tucked away from sight.”

Fiona didn’t think her cheeks could get any redder. “I—I don’t know what you’re insinuating.”

“Well, well,” he chortled, eyebrows arching in surprise.

After a few more moments of silence and scrutiny from Delvin, Fiona cracked and told him what had transpired the night before. He was as amused as she knew he would be, but also seemed sympathetic to how terrible she felt for leaving.

“Do you think he’ll be upset?” she asked, resting her chin in her palm, elbow on the table.

“Not in the slightest,” Delvin scoffed. “He’ll be here by morning.”

She didn’t mean to, but she had started to doze off at the mention of morning. Just what time was it anyways?

“Boss?” Delvin reached across the table to tap her arm. “No way you’re feeling that tipsy after one drink, are ya’?”

Fiona laughed off his tease. At this point she hadn’t slept in over two days. “Delvin, I need a bed.”

“Maybe you should’ve stayed with ol’ Bryn,” he remarked. She didn’t have the mental energy to reply to his comment. Instead, she leaned into his hand as her eyes became heavier. “Need som’ help getting home?”

“Please,” Fiona agreed. She could barely lift her head at this point. If she was going to talk to Brynjolf, which was bound to happen sooner rather than later, she needed to sleep.  

* * *

 

It was well past nightfall by the time Brynjolf made it through the Riften dead gate, the darkened sky lit up by the green aurora borealis. He thought it would be wise to wait out the storm in Braidwood Inn, but when it didn’t pass, he decided to head for Riften anyways. It delayed his travel, and the cold settled into his bones despite his Nord heritage. He should have ran after Fiona—he was still berating himself over that foolish decision as he made his way to the cemetery.

It didn’t take Brynjolf very long after she left for him to figure out what had scared her off in the first place. He reached up to feel at the worn silver ring that rested around his neck. The same ring that he had kept with him now for years. Ever since he stole it from Cyrodiil. Ever since he stole it from… _ Fiona _ .

Before this realization, before Kynesgrove, he had been battling with unfamiliar emotions for the lass. He wasn’t afraid to admit he had been physically attracted to her from the moment he met her in the Bee and Barb, but over time, the attraction had turned into something else. With Fiona he wouldn’t be able to just bed her and leave without a trace. Not that he wanted to. No, what Brynjolf wanted was much more than that. And that’s what scared him.

It was overwhelming. Even with the knowledge that Fiona was the person he stole the ring from, it didn’t seem to change how he felt. If anything, it only made his feelings stronger as he thought about his life, his past, and how fate brought him to the places he needed to be. Or rather, how fate brought the two of them together. He needed to see her and finish what he had started all those years ago.

Brynjolf weighed his options on where Fiona might be. The Cistern or the Ragged Flaggon? Possibly, but unlikely at this hour. The Bee and Barb? No. He started to walk through the marketplace and noticed that Honeyside was dark, yet smoke rose from the chimney. Despite this he frowned and his stomach dropped with a sinking feeling. For all he knew it could be Iona, her Housecarl. Was Fiona even in Riften? Brynjolf quickly shook the thoughts from his head and continued on.

Instead of approaching from the East, he looped around the city gates, falling into the comfort of the shadows to keep him hidden from the Riften guards. They didn’t need to see him breaking into the Dragonborn’s personal residence. He easily crept up the porch steps, and stared at the door for a moment, wondering what he’d find beyond it. He wasn’t a religious man, but he prayed that it would be Fiona, and that she wanted to see him.

He felt at ring around his neck again, simultaneously reaching for a lockpick from his pocket. The first two snapped instantly, the third had better luck but still fell apart in his fingers. Brynjolf had been to Honeyside plenty of times before and was now kicking himself mentally for not pocketing the extra key Fiona had, or remembering the sweet spot from the  _ last _ time he broke in. The irony in how history was repeating itself was not lost on him.

When the lock finally clicked free, he nearly exclaimed aloud and took a moment to gather his thoughts and nerves. What was he expecting if Fiona was there? What was he going to say? What was he going to do? Brynjolf was the master of improvisation, always able to put on a show—but this was different. He couldn’t just  _ woo  _ his way through life like he had almost done in Kynesgrove. He wondered if it was even possible for him to convey those feelings to her, or if he was a lost cause.

Impulse won out and he entered through the door. The fireplace in the kitchen was dim and provided the only light on the first floor, the shadows dancing across the walls as Brynjolf inched more and more into the room. Right away he was reminded at how close Fiona’s bed was to the porch entrance, and it was clear to see that she was home.  

He couldn’t help but think back to Cyrodiil; her arm was bent across her chest, the other tucked beneath the linen sheet. He stared at her face, desperately wanting to brush the loose blonde fringe from her temple, especially now that he knew just how soft her skin was. She was as idyllic now as she was then. And he still wanted to take her away with him. He wistfully smiled—temptation was a cruel mistress.

Brynjolf took more careful steps towards her bedframe. The wooden planks beneath his feet began to stress and she flinched. He clenched his teeth and tried to crouch to distribute his weight, but it didn’t help. The floor creaked louder as he moved and he cursed. Almost instantly Fiona was up, arm outstretched and a dagger clutched between her fist.

“Fiona!” he caught her wrist, leaning back as the blade nearly sliced his cheek. Her eyes were wild; clearly she had been startled from a deep slumber. He gripped her other arm as she nearly toppled off the side of the bed in a daze.

“Bryn?” she yelped, breathing ragged. She dropped the dagger from her hand but didn’t relax in his grip at first. “What are you doing here? You can’t just—”

“Break into people’s homes?” he cut her off. He slipped his hand down to her elbow and tugged her closer. He bit his tongue. Hadn’t he agreed to  _ not _ be the typical roguish Brynjolf, but a sensitive, honest man instead? “Lass, I’ve been doing it all my life, I don’t plan on stopping now.”

Fiona balanced herself against him as she moved off of the bed, taking one hand away to adjust her night coat for modesty before placing her dragonbone dagger on the edge of the bed behind her. Brynjolf couldn’t help but notice the flush on her cheeks. She still wasn’t complexly relaxed, but he understood why. A long stretch of silence fell between them as they simply just stared one another down, his emeralds gazing into her sapphires.  _ Just like the damned ring. _

Hesitantly, he pulled his hands away long enough to produce the piece of jewelry tucked at his collar, and pulling it over his head. Fiona’s eyes widened a little when he cupped her hand upwards in order to place the ring and chain inside. He softly chuckled at her confusion, and found it endearing.

“Do you know how rare it is for a thief to return stolen goods?”

He held her hand in his, the other moving back to her side in any effort to keep her close to him. He still wasn’t sure how this was going to turn out. Fiona stared at the garnished silver for a long moment before flicking her eyes up to him.

“I think I owe you a secret,” she spoke softly.

“Aye lass,” Brynjolf responded with a nod. “That you do.”

“This is my mother’s ring,” she started in a low voice. “My parents were nobles in Skyrim, Nords. I was born here. In Falkreath.”

“They moved to the Imperial City when I was a baby to be with Imperial extended family and got caught up in the Aldmeri Dominion takeover of the city,” Fiona’s expression fell and Brynjolf instantly placed his hand to hers. “They were Nords, and were killed in the confusion. I was smuggled away to live with some of my Imperial cousins in the mountains near the border.”

Brynjolf stayed silent for the time being. He already felt guilty enough and didn’t want to make it worse by saying something stupid. Fiona had heard his story about his mother and father, and hoped that she knew that he was telling the truth. Their backgrounds were not so different. She squeezed his hand as she rolled the ring between her fingers.

“This was meant to be a dowry,” Fiona’s lips skewed to the side as she smirked. “I was being married off to some rich Imperial noble twice my age.”

Her eyes locked with his again. “And then some thief snuck into the castle on the eve of the wedding and broke into my chambers. Stole some of my wedding gifts and this ring off of my finger as I slept.”

“In all the confusion as the guards hunted him… _ you _ down, I took it as a sign from the Divines,” Fiona got a soft wistful look in her eyes. “The last thing I had of my parents was gone, and the life that was being built for me was not something that I wanted. So I ran. When I came to Skyrim, I was a runaway bride.”

Brynjolf’s instant reaction was to laugh, much to Fiona’s shock. He quickly offered an explanation. “Do you know how close I came to taking you with me for ransom?”

“ _ What _ ?” Her eyes went wide. She shoved him a little and Brynjolf’s amusement increased. “Bryn, this isn’t funny! I just told you about how my parents were  _ killed _ and I was almost part of an arranged marriage and you laugh?”

But then she started to laugh with him and she shook her head in disbelief. Brynjolf pulled her back to him, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug. Her laughter subsided, and warmth enveloped him as her arms slid around his middle in a return embrace. This is what he wanted.

“Could you ever forgive me, lass?” he asked against her temple. Fiona nodded against his shoulder and pulled away.

“I forgave the person who stole my mother’s ring a long time ago,” she explained. “But it could have been in worse hands.”

“Do you forgive me for leaving you in the Braidwood Inn?” she bit down on her lip nervously and he furrowed his brow in thought.

“I think we can work something out,” he teased. She pulled a face, calling his bluff. 

Brynjolf watched her as she examined the ring again for a few moments before lifting the chain back over his neck, her fingers lingering at his chest. Out of all the possible outcomes, this is one that Brynjolf was not expecting. Fiona idly played with the silver chain. “I think you should keep this.”

“Why?” he asked.

“After all the trouble you went through to get it,” she smiled. Fiona was the most content he had seen her in a long while. “I hear it’s brought you good luck?”

“You’ve been talking to Delvin?” Brynjolf breathed out a sigh as it dawned on him. Fiona must have seen the realization on his face.

She waved it away. “We’ll deal with him later.”

He focused on the present moment. “Are you sure, lass?”

“Yes.” She was so sure, and it made Brynjolf that more confident.

“What made you decide to come to Skyrim after leaving Cyrodiil?” he started.

He wasn’t sure where he was going with this line of questioning, but it turned out  _ thief _ Brynjolf and  _ honest _ Brynjolf were one in the same—and Fiona was charmed by them both.

“I’m a Nord, Brynjolf,” she scoffed. “Besides that, stories of Skyrim have always made me happy. Being here now has made me happy.”

Brynjolf thought on that for a moment as she eyed him. “In Riften?” his chest tightened in an unfamiliar but welcoming way when she nodded. “With the Thieves Guild?”

“With  _ you _ ,” she clarified. She lifted a hand to brush her thumb across the scar on his cheek in an affectionate swipe. He was taken aback by the softness of her expression, and couldn’t recall a time when anybody had spoken to him with such sincerity and conviction. He was dumbstruck. When he didn’t respond, she faltered slightly. “I don’t need you to say—”

He reacted without hesitation. His hands had framed her face and before she could finish her sentence he had kissed her. Not as forceful as before in Kynesgrove, but with just as much passion and meaning behind it. Fiona had leaned into him almost immediately, her hands gripping his wrists to brace herself to avoid toppling over his feet as she moved as close as possible to him. He kissed her until his lungs burned for air, pulling away if only to rest his forehead against hers as he breathed in deeply.

“After all the trouble I went through?” he teased, mimicking her. “Don’t doubt me, Fiona,” he puffed out another breath and grinned. “But I can give you a heartfelt confession if you’d like.”

Her cheeks darkened, expression coy. “Maybe…later.”

“Just know,” Brynjolf pulled away in order to look at her fully. “I feel the same way.”

Fiona had the calm smile she held before as she nodded. A comfortable silence fell over them, just the two gazing into each other’s eyes. Brynjolf was about to speak when her expression shifted, lips tilting into a smirk. “Are you going to ask me?”

He was confused by her question at first and he racked his brain at the possibilities. Her eyes glanced towards the bed for a brief moment. He flashed a sly grin. The minx.

“Aye lass,” he breathed with a hearty laugh. He rested his hands on her waist, bringing her closer.

“Would you like me to keep your bed warm tonight?” he finally asked.

Fiona smiled and draped her arms around his shoulders, yelping at first and then laughing out as he lifted her up in his arms. “I thought you’d never ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I forget to add some ~mature content~ ? My regular readers know I am capable of such content, but I didn't do so here. I may do so for ol' Bryn and Fiona, and may add a Chapter 4 if there is enough demand. It just didn't fit with the natural flow of my original idea of this story. 
> 
> I am still pondering the idea of a full blown story. Because that shiz is hard. 
> 
> Thank you to all that commented and supported.

**Author's Note:**

> So I've had 'Fiona' has my Skyrim OC since 2011 but never wrote anything for her until now. I have a full story arc in my head somewhere, but THIS was just aching to get out of my brain. I listened to a lot of John Mayer's 'Battle Studies' album while working on this-hopefully it doesn't show too much, but if you need some mood music, there you go. I haven't posted anything of length here in a LONG time, and never for this fandom so... I am rusty. Anyways, if there's some interest, I'll write a big damn story for this thieving couple. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! 
> 
> Part 3 to follow soon
> 
> ps: this is what Fiona looks like in-game. https://imgur.com/a/JzWoYzL


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